Playing a bad hand well
by SageK
Summary: This is an AU fic that begins in the last few minutes of the season 1 episode A Spy in the House of Love.
1. Chapter 1

This is an AU fic that begins in the last few minutes of the season 1 episode A Spy in the House of Love.

Standing on the walkway that overlooked the central atrium of the LA Dollhouse, Adelle DeWitt pressed a hand to her injured side, trying to force down the pain radiating from the bullet wound. It was almost poetic, in a sense, a physical injury inflicted by the person she had, until scant hours ago, trusted more than any other. For the entirety of the 3 years they had worked together, Laurence Dominic had lied to her.

Her ally, her trusted chief of security, was, in fact, an NSA spy.

Knowing that hurt far more than any actual injury.

Behind her, the door to the imprint room made a tiny sound as Topher Brink exited, the wedge containing Mr. Dominic held gingerly in his hand. She turned to face him, hand dropping back to rest by her side.

_Mustn't show weakness. _

Topher, looking mildly shell shocked, raised the wedge and quipped, "The unabridged Laurence Dominic."

_Lose it in the archives. I trust his body's on the way to the Attic._

That would have been the smart thing to say.

The proper thing to say.

What came out of her mouth was, "I think perhaps sending Mr. Dominic to the Attic would be a waste. He could be far more useful here."

It was only logical, she told herself. She wasn't being overly sentimental, just making the best of a bad situation.

Topher blinked at her. "I'm sorry. I must have just had a momentary attack of the crazies, 'cause it sounded like you said you wanted to keep him here."

"Inform the docents from the Attic that they will not be taking Mr. Dominic into their care," she said, then glared at the gaping genius. "Now!"

Startled, Topher scrambled back into his domain and, by the time Adelle re-entered the room, he and Ivy were the only self aware individuals present. Mr. Dominic was prone in the imprint chair, body still and eyes dead.

He was, in essence, an empty shell. Everything that had made him Laurence Dominic was now contained in the small wedge lying benignly on Topher's desk.

Adelle stepped forward, looking down at Dominic, his normally sharp blue eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. He was a handsome man, there was no denying that. In his late 30's, or perhaps early 40's (she didn't know if even the birth date given in his personal file had been the truth), he was in excellent physical condition, not even a hint of an impending middle aged spread.

Most of their actives were young, as that was the age most of their clients desired, but there had been requests for more…mature company. As director of the LA Dollhouse, Adelle thought it her duty to provide for whatever her clients may desire.

She wondered if what she was about to do made her a sadist or a masochist.

Or both.

Ivy and Topher were huddled together by the bank of computers, watching her cautiously. After a rapid, hushed conversation (which ended when Ivy physically shoved Topher forwards), the neuroscientist asked, "Umm…Not to interrupt your communion with Veggie!Dom there, but what do you want us to do with him? He's cleaned out…autonomic functions are going to start shutting down and then comes eau de death and that's not something I want lingering in here…."

With a sigh, Adelle stepped back, pinning him with an icy gaze. "What do I intend to do?" she questioned rhetorically, raising her brow archly. "I am going to pay a visit to Dr. Saunders while you do what we pay you an exorbitant salary for."

He twitched, eyes bouncing from her to Ivy to Dominic and back several times in rapid succession. "You mean…."

Nodding curtly, she turned on her heel and marched towards the door. Without turning back, she commented, "It's about time we acquired a new Oscar anyhow."

TBC…


	2. Chapter 2

He was different now. The blond man, who always wore pretty colored shirts and rushed around angrily, had come out of the treatment room without any of his usual intensity. Or colors. He seemed calm, sedate, at peace, almost completely unlike his usual demeanor.

It was good that he wasn't so tense.

Tension wasn't good. It didn't help you to be your best.

Echo watched as one of the nice people who looked after them approached the blond man and gestured for him to follow her. Sierra noticed that something had caught Echo's attention and turned to look as well. After a moment, she said, "I like when we get new friends."

"Yes," Echo replied, unsure why a little voice in the back of her mind warned her to be careful of him. It always spoke up when she saw him and she had the niggling idea that he was dangerous. "Friends are nice."

As he walked by, Victor paused, smiled and said, "Hello."

"Hello," Echo and Sierra chorused, though Echo thought Sierra was a bit happier to greet their friend. She usually was.

"I'm going to paint," he informed them, which made Sierra brighten.

"I like to paint," Sierra said, then looked at Echo. "Would you like to paint?"

"Not now," she replied, nodding to the picture book open on her lap. "You go. I might do yoga later."

They smiled and nodded before moving off to the art room. Echo remained on the couch and raised her head when the used-to-be scowly blond was led through. The care taker stopped and said, "How are you today Echo?"

"I have a book," she replied, then looked at the blond. He met her gaze placidly, then blinked and cocked his head to the side as he considered her.

The caretaker didn't notice, simply continuing, "That's lovely, dear. This is Oscar. He'll be staying here. Oscar, this is Echo."

Oscar - for some reason, Echo didn't think the name sounded right - nodded at her and said, "Hello, Echo."

"Hello, Oscar." It was the only reply she could come up with. After all, she couldn't say exactly what it was about him she always found so unnerving. It was just that she felt a sense of foreboding when he was around.

But that was different now too.

She didn't feel anything negative coming from him, but she did see a glimmer of recognition in his eye.

Oblivious, the caretaker laid her hand on Oscar's arm and said, "Come along, Oscar. I have to finish showing you around."

As she led him away, Echo settled back into the couch. Sometimes, she wished the mess of thoughts in her head were clearer or even that someone would tell her why she always felt like there was something creeping in on the edge of her awareness.

* * *

Leaning on the railing, overlooking the main floor of the Dollhouse, Boyd Langston let his eyes travel around the room, taking note of Actives, his mind immediately pulling up their most recent imprint.

Echo, recently back from her little adventure as Margaret Bashford, Ms. DeWitt's deceased friend, was snacking on a fruit salad. Across the table from her, Sierra was no worse for the wear of spending a day as Topher's female equivalent.

In the art area, several Actives were tending to Bonsai trees. Victor - last engagement, Drew Chilton, horse trainer- was among them, happily pruning the tiny plant.

One of the caretakers was leading Dominic (Damn it, he was never going to get used to calling the man Oscar. It was too strange and, frankly, he felt DeWitt had crossed a line there. Dominic might have been a spy and a son of a bitch, but he hadn't signed up for this.) from the imprint room, back from his first engagement.

A wealthy, 50 something woman had simply wanted an appropriate escort for a charity benefit. She hadn't wanted anyone too young, asked for a 40ish, elegant and well educated man to keep her company. Dominic - Oscar, damn it! Oscar - had fit the bill physically and Topher designed an imprint that perfectly suited the clients needs.

In fact, she had been so happy, the client had already booked Oscar for a second engagement next month. Some night at the opera type fundraiser.

As Dominic and the caretaker passed Boyd, the blond man paused to meet his gaze. "Hello," he said, voice softer and less intense than it had been before.

It was eerie.

"Good afternoon, Oscar," he said with a nod. "How are you doing today?"

"I try to be my best."

Boyd startled slightly, sure he'd heard a sarcastic undertone in that statement. Impossible. The caretaker hadn't noticed anything amiss and touched Dominic on the shoulder. "Come along, Oscar. Time to see Dr. Saunders."

"Dr. Saunders is nice," Oscar replied brightly, once again managing to imbue the simple sentence with… something indefinable.

Boyd stood there, stumped, as the caretaker let Dominic away. He turned back to the view of the atrium, wondering what was going on.

At her table, Echo looked up when Dominic and the caretaker appeared on the floor, crossing the area towards Dr. Saunders office. Her gaze locked on Dominic and, to Boyd's shock, the former head of security turned to meet her stare. As he watched, blue and brown eyes met, placid expressions shifted minutely and, after a moment, then nodded to each other before continuing on with their own activities.

What the hell was that?

TBC…


	3. Chapter 3

Making Dominic into a doll had been a bad, bad idea. Of this, Topher was certain. He knew it wasn't possible, but he was sure Echo and Dom (who had disliked each other before…well, Dominic had disliked Echo even more than he disliked everyone and Echo had taken him out of the equation by outing him as a spy) were bonding.

When not constructing imprints, Topher watched the actives. It was kind of soothing to watch them go about their routines. They were predictable and calm and didn't have enough individual personalities to make him uncomfortable.

Dominic - Oscar, he was Oscar now, and Echo had been exchanging nods and looks since the older man had been wiped. Having noted some flocking behavior between Echo, Sierra and Victor, Topher had been keeping an eye out for similar behaviors among the actives. After several days of wary circling, Oscar had begun joining Echo's little group for meals.

And that was before the whole, Revenge of Alpha craziness.

Really, that was a world changing event, even for the Dollhouse, despite Ms. DeWitt's insistence that the lingering effects were manageable. MANAGEABLE! His job involved carefully scooping out every speck of individual development and replacing it with what basically was a blank slate, then, when called for, putting a whole new person in that brain. It was not something that was best done when things were merely manageable.

But, what could you do?

He chose to find comfort in an increased consumption of carbohydrate laden foods and developed a teeny obsession with watching the Actives for new and non-Active like behaviors.

In going over the security camera footage from the night of Alpha's rampage (Don't even mention the fact that tall and morally judgmental not-Boyd, whom had brought Mr. Crazy back to the house, was now working with them.), Topher had found a few interesting tidbits to consider. Ballard and Alpha had stumbled across Oscar before FrankenFed had tasered Topher. Clearly, they had seen Actives, whom had wandered past in their general docile way.

After noting his Active style clothes, Ballard had given Oscar a smile and passed him without a second thought. Alpha had stared for a moment, then smiled a truly chilling smile. Oscar had passed them, continuing on his way without any reaction.

Or so it seemed until you looked a little more closely at the security footage. Oscar's expression - or lack there of - hadn't changed upon sight of Alpha, but he had reacted in other ways. His shoulders shifted, back straightening and the tendons on the side of his neck flexed. His hands balled into fists that trembled slightly and the muscles of his forearms quivered.

Yeah, there was some weird remnant of Dominic still rattling around inside Oscar.

And Echo…oh, Echo, who, thankfully, didn't go all Kill Bill after Alpha downloaded all those personalities into her at once, had always been a little…off for an Active. She occasionally had ideas and what the hell was up with her putting her hand over his heart?

The Actives were so much easier to deal with when they were less self aware than your average toddler.

Down at the tables, the four troublesome Actives were seated around a table, probably having a stimulating discussion about the merits of oatmeal. Topher shook his head, watching as they ponderously added sliced strawberries to their bowls.

He wondered what it said about him that these were some of the people he thought were plotting something. It was probably a sign that he was paranoid, but he thought it was a completely reasonable response, given the environment they worked in.

"Topher?"

He jumped when a heavy hand fell onto his shoulder, spinning around to face whomever had snuck up on him. When he saw Ballard looming over him, the computer genius scowled. "Don't do that! This is a place of very sensitive work. Startling me could have negative effects on…many, many levels!"

Ballard looked at him, clearly not buying how serious the situation could have been. He peered past Topher, out the window and down at the cluster of Actives. "What's so interesting?"

"Nothing." The reply was quick because no one really wanted to hear his theories about the Actives developing their own, unique personalities. He looked back out in time to see Oscar wrinkle his nose and begin picking strawberries out of his breakfast, lying the fruit on his plate.

Topher's stomach clenched. Not too long after he'd begun working at the Dollhouse, Dominic had been in his office, growling about something or other and Topher had tossed a Fruit Roll up at him, saying, "Chill. It'll be done in five minutes. Have a snack."

Dominic had looked at the foil package and dropped it onto Topher's desk. "I hate strawberry and I don't eat processed sugar."

If anyone could use the happy mood inducing qualities of a massive amount of processed sugar, it was Laurence Dominic, but that was only Topher's opinion. Actually, he wasn't sure he'd ever seen the older man eat, just suck down cups of black coffee…no, he'd seen Dom with a salad once in the break room. It was little more than a plate of lettuce and cucumber, so that barely registered in Topher's mind as food.

But that was besides the point.

There was no way Oscar should have any of Dominic's like or dislikes…

* * *

There was something…off. Oscar couldn't quite put his finger on what was bothering him, but he never seemed to feel quite right.

Sure, this place was nice. The caretakers were nice. The other people were nice.

None of that made him feel any less…wrong.

Sometimes it was a stray thought, something bubbling up in his mind that startled him. He had no idea why he knew how to do a mitro-valve replacement. He didn't even know what a mitro-valve was. Identifying a tail and how to ditch one seemed like second nature and he wasn't sure what a batting average was, but he knew his had been .317 his senior year.

Senior year of what?

Then there were the physical things. The hair on the back of his neck always stood on end when someone new entered a room. He had to fight the urge to react every time someone touched him without warning, 'cause he somehow knew putting a caretaker in an arm lock would be frowned upon. Frankly, he wasn't sure what an arm lock was, but it popped to mind whenever one of them laid a hand on his shoulder.

The man who oversaw their Tai Chi sessions was constantly correcting his movements. Too fast, he said, too much force. Unclench your fists. Don't kick high. Don't punch, push. He tried to follow the routines, but his muscles kept rebelling, like they knew some other motion and refused to adapt.

As he moved from one posture to the next, he caught sight of Echo peering into the room. She met his eye and tapped a finger to her right hand. He glanced to the left, seeing that, once again, he had made a fist instead of keeping his palm flat. Releasing a breath, he corrected his pose before the caretaker noticed.

After class he approached Echo, saying a simple, "Thank you."

She nodded slowly. "It's good to help."

"Yes," he agreed, wandering over to the seating area with her.

Glancing up at the walkway, Echo said, "You were different. Before."

"I don't remember." That was true enough. There were no concrete memories, but occasionally he'd have a flash. Usually when the pretty, dark haired woman who wore truly painful looking shoes passed by. Sometime he saw her watching him and he didn't know why. "Except…sometimes…."

He couldn't express exactly what he wanted to say. It was one of those things that seemed to be just beyond his reach. Fortunately, Echo nodded, seeming to understand. "Yes," she murmured. "I don't like…the fog."

Fog. That was fitting. He let his gaze roam around the room without ever stopping on any particular view. "They're watching us."

"They always are."

Oscar met her eyes and gave her a smile. She smiled back. The men watching them, the hyper one who wore bright sweater vests and the tall one that hovered around Echo, both frowned.

* * *

Unbeknownst to anyone, the whole scene was watched on a monitor by Adelle DeWitt, who wasn't quite sure what to think of this new development.

TBC…


End file.
